


Late Nights

by nebulas (strawberry_bee)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, thats it its just fluff ur welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:31:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8408746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberry_bee/pseuds/nebulas
Summary: There are small ways to love someone from afar. Hanzo is no stranger to that.





	1. Chapter 1

When they meet, Mccree tips his cowboy hat at him, a smirk on his lips, crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. He is all life, vibrancy. There is no time to have conversation; there are people to fight, things to protect. Hanzo keeps well away from him; if he’s learned anything, it's that the cockiest always gets shot first. 

So in the beginning, Hanzo is only watching Mccree’s back. The stupid cowboy is so busy putting up a bravado that he leaves himself open, and any experienced sniper knows what an easy target that is. It becomes second nature to look out for his teammate, since nobody else is going to do it for him. 

There are times where Mccree saves Hanzo’s skin as well. Such as the time roadhog hooked him in the arm and dragged him down a steep cliff wall, scrabbling desperately for some window ledge to hold onto. He was almost certain that was the time he was going to die, until he hit the ground rolling, springing up to aim at--Mccree, standing over Roadhog with smoking guns, already aiming at the next enemy. “Watch yourself, archer,” He says calmly, throwing him a sly look. He doesn’t deign Mccree with a reply, instead scaling the high walls to return to his perch. 

Afterwards, after hours of nothing but death and fighting, a brief respite is called just as the hollow moon rose above the bullet strewn buildings. Hanzo holes himself up in the building he had been using throughout the day, slipping into the top floor’s window. The wind takes up where the sounds of battle had dropped off; whistling and screaming, it echoes throughout the building and reverberates throughout Hanzo’s bones. 

Mccree is welcome company when he appears in the doorway, looking haggard as he trudges over and slumps against a wall. He expects Mccree to step right up into conversation, the way he always does with Tracer. Instead he takes his hat off, setting it on a knee as he tilts his head up to look at the stars through the holes in the ceiling. 

“Y’know, if ya keep killin’ everything within a twenty mile radius of me, you’re gonna make me look like a damn fool,” He says, a small smiling creeping onto his face. Hanzo adverts his eyes, feeling embarrassed that he had even noticed. 

“You leave yourself open. Only a fool would allow themselves to be so vulnerable,” Hanzo says shortly. He winces a little. That’s not what he intended to say, something softer, something that wouldn’t drive Mccree away. He’s startled when Mccree chuckles lightly, a lowly musical note in the chilled night air. 

“Have a problem with my form?” Mccree asks, tone light as he lowers his gaze to focus on him.

“No, i just look after my teammates,” Hanzo says quickly, glancing at him. Mccree has a thumb against his bottom lip, gazing at him thoughtfully. He wants to ask what's so damned interesting.

“Maybe a round of practice wouldn’t hurt. Lord knows i'm out of practice,” Mccree responds, taking out Peacekeeper. Deftly he empties the bullets from the chamber, pocketing them before he begins to clean his gun. Hanzo tends to his own weaponry, all too happy to leave it in silence. 

Hanzo settles himself down on the barren floor of the room, careful to keep well away from Mccree. He focuses on the tip of the moon peeking through the roof, only to be startled as a piece of fabric is thrown his way. He catches it, and after a moment he recognizes it as Mccree’s poncho.

“Can’t have you getting a crick in your neck, now can we?” Mccree says lightly, in the middle of lubing his gun up. Hanzo elects to ignore the implications of his movements. 

“Thank you, for your kindness,” Hanzo allows, balling up the fabric and shoving it underneath his head. After a moment he’s stuck staring at the sliver of the moon, and nothing to pass the time until the morning. 

“G’night, archer,” Mccree says at last, and Hanzo glances over. Mccree is hunched up against the far wall, cowboy hat tipped down low to mask his face from view. He considers calling him a fool for not leaving a watch.

He stays up and keeps watch for them both. There are small ways to love someone, and Hanzo is no stranger to them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite himself, Hanzo can't stop thinking of that night. Neither can Jesse.

As much as Hanzo would’ve liked to forget about the night, it haunted him. He could never quite get the image out of his head of Mccree sleeping against the wall, the weak moonlight washing him out into a disarray of greys. It was like keeping watch over a ghost. 

And like most ghosts are want to do, they’re gone before the sun quite rises above the horizon. He’s not sure when Mccree took off, if he had even nodded off while keeping watch, but when he awoke, the cowboy was gone. 

He’s never quite sure what to say to him, to Jesse. Perhaps it was just a dream brought about from fatigue. But sometimes, when they’re caught alone in the mess hall, or walking down corridors, he tips his hat at him, offering an easy smile and a gentle “Archer,” as he passes by. He wants to ask him if he wants to practice shooting together. If he ever crosses his thoughts. 

It’s weeks before they really speak again. There’s missions that need to be completed, obligations to be taken care of. Even Hanzo begins to forget that it ever happened. It comes as a shock when Mccree sits beside him in the mess hall, empty of tray as he leans against the table like he was there all along. 

“Hey, archer. D’you mind helping me with my form today?” He asks. 

“I thought you had forgotten that,” hanzo admits, turning to face Mccree.

“Nah, jus’ been busy is all. Sorry to keep you waiting for so long,” He says, and he sounds like he means it. 

“I do not wait for anything,” Hanzo says, and kicks himself for saying that. Mccree smiles at him, and Hanzo notices he’s chewing on a toothpick. He wonders why he’s always got something going on with his mouth. 

“Is that so? How ‘bout we start up right after lunch?” Mccree asks. 

“I will be there,” Hanzo says, and turns away from Mccree before he makes a fool of himself. After a moment Mccree goes, whistling a jaunty tune. Hanzo tries to finish his meal, but everything has turned to sawdust. He tries to remember feeling like this with someone else, but cannot. He thinks it must be rivalry, it’s the only solution. 

He takes his time going to the shooting range, so as not to appear eager. When Mccree spots him, he raises his hand in greeting, hat pushed back away from his face. Hanzo frowns at him instead. Today, Hanzo decides, he is going to go to the bottom of these emotions about Jesse Mccree. 

“Yknow i was thinkin’ maybe I could let you have a shot at one of my revolvers,” Mccree says animatedly, following in Hanzo’s footsteps. It reminds him of an excitable puppy, and Hanzo sets his mouth in a hard line. There’s that damnable feeling again.

“Unless that wouldn’t be to your liking,” Mccree adds on, sounding a little deflated as he notices the look on Hanzo’s face. 

“No, it would be. I-forgive me, Jesse, I’m distracted today,” Hanzo admits. He knows he’s being unfair to him, that Mccree is just trying to be friendly. 

“If you’re not in the mood today, there’s always another time to be shootin’ at targets,” He offers, all grace and politeness. 

“If I do not correct your form today, you could be dead tomorrow. Enough talking,” Hanzo says, and grabs his bow from the wall against the shooting range. It’s second nature for him to string it, to feel the familiar grip of it’s cool metal in the palm of his hand. He’s acutely aware of Mccree loading his gun, clicking the safety off. Together they walk to the end of the shooting range to face the targets available. 

“The traditional archer form is sideways, as to make a smaller target,” Hanzo explains, demonstrating as he speaks. “Your form allows any shooter to have easy access to your vitals, especially a sniper,” 

“So if I just swivel my hips and keep my shoulders like this, an’-” Mccree trails off, and Hanzo loosens his bow to watch Mccree imitate his form. There’s something off, and Hanzo goes over, placing his hands on Mccree’s hips, adjusting them for him. 

“Remember to keep your hips swiveled, you have to work for a habit,” Hanzo explains, tilting his chin up to look at Mccree. There’s a particular look in his eyes that he can’t place, and Hanzo becomes aware of just how close they are. He feels a blush creep up his neck, and he backs away. 

“Did I do somethin’ wrong?” Mccree asks, dropping the form. Hanzo wants to tell him that of course he did nothing wrong, it was just him. Always messing things up. 

“You’ll need to practice to memorize the form, I suggest you do that today,” Hanzo says instead, looking away from him. 

“Thank you for your help, archer,” Mccree says.

“No problem, gunslinger, I need you out there in the field, not in recovery,” Hanzo smiles softly at him. It’s a wonderful feeling to have Mccree smile at him, Hanzo realises, no matter why everyone likes him. 

They spent the rest of the afternoon together, wasting bullets and arrows on the targets. Hanzo shows Mccree how to fire his bow, and while he’s not half bad, his bravado about hitting the target takes away how impressed Hanzo is with him. Hanzo isn’t too shabby with a gun either, but if Mccree wasn’t standing so close to him, maybe he would of been hitting the targets more often than he normally was. Still, it’s fun to be doing something with Mccree, and Hanzo finds himself smiling more often than not. 

They turn in just as the sun has turned the sky into a fire of oranges and pinks, giving everything a long shadow and a tired air. Hanzo sits on a bench in the armory while Mccree cleans his gun, and this time Hanzo watches closely. It’s an art all of in itself, and it’s one of the few times he’s seen the cowboy quiet down enough to focus on something. He notices that Mccree is still fiddling with the toothpick from earlier that day, and he watches Mccree work it up and down in his mouth absently. Mccree looks up, and Hanzo blushes, ashamed to be caught staring at him. 

“I have somethin’ to confess, mister Shimada,” Mccree says, going back to focusing on his gun. 

“Is it that my form is superior to yours?” Hanzo asks, trying to make light of the conversation. Some part of him is afraid of what he’s going to say. He’s not sure why. 

“Nah, although that’s completely untrue, we both know that,” Mccree smiles, setting Peacekeeper down and putting away the cleaning kit. “It’s jus’ that, well,” He gives an irritated sigh, dropping the kit on the counter and turning to Hanzo. 

“I gotta confess somethin’ to ya, an’ you might not like it, but I can’t keep actin’ like I don’t have a thing for ya.” Mccree says. He keeps eye contact for several seconds before dropping his gaze again, when Hanzo fails to respond.

“Of course I understand if you don’t uh, feel the same way. I understand,” Mccree says, and if Hanzo isn’t mistaken, he’s blushing. 

“Wait. I-Jesse,” Hanzo reaches out, catches the edge of Mccree’s poncho and pulls him in closer. He’s not sure what he wants from Mccree, but the closeness, the heat he radiates, the smell of cigar smoke and sweat, it's certainly getting closer to it. 

“Yes, darlin’?” He asks, tilting his head to the side a little, Hanzo’s eyes flicker to his lips, where that damnable toothpick is dangling from his mouth. With a bravery he did not know he had, he plucks the piece of wood from Mccree’s mouth and flicks it away. He looks back into Mccree’s eyes, and there’s that look from earlier that day.

“Fool,” Hanzo says softly, and leans in to brush his lips against Mccree’s. He finds his hands against the small of Mccree’s back, pressing him in close to him, he feels Mccree brushing his calloused fingers against his chin, gentle, soft, insistent as they kiss. Hanzo forgets what it means to be confused by Jesse Mccree, for this was all there was to know about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my gf wanted them to kiss, and wouldn’t let me rest til it happened. Your comments and kudos mean the world to me, and im so so glad you liked this ficlet <3

**Author's Note:**

> just spit this out because hey, haven't written in awhile. if you want to see more of this, please let me know!


End file.
